Carleen soybean and corn fields. Her mother’s house sat on a hill, a weather-beaten old horse-drawn wagon underneath a large oak tree out front. “Wake up, sleepyhead. We’re home.” She jostled Lowell’s shoulder and he sat up, rubbing his eyes, looking around. The TV was on but for once their mother wasn’t in front of it in her recliner. Carleen could hear her clattering around back in the kitchen. A moist, salty smell wafted into the living room. “I’m not believing this. Tugboat Annie’s cooked supper for you.” Their mother emerged from the kitchen in a flowered duster, her thin gray hair sticking out like a ragdoll’s, lips pressed tight in the round, doughy face, head tilted to the side. Carleen watched as she opened her arms. “Hey, Mama,” Lowell said, gingerly patting her head as he held her against his chest. “Oh, Lowell,” she said. “Oh, Lowell.” Carleen had only a few days to get her brother ready for his caretaking duties before leaving for New York. He followed her from room to room as she went over the routine. He was so quiet and obedient it was almost creepy. At other times, he couldn’t sit still. He kept offering to do things. “Do you need me to move anything for you or mow the lawn?” he’d ask. When she reminded him that it was December and the grass wasn’t growing, he went out in the yard and looked for bits of trash to pick up. She wondered how long this new Lowell would last. The weather had cleared, and their flights were on time as Carleen and her friends drove to the Memphis airport for the first leg of their trip. Sitting in the car, then waiting in Atlanta for the connecting flight to LaGuardia, she couldn’t help checking her phone repeatedly, expecting a text from Lowell, saying she had to get home right away. Her companions, Euhlyn Stamp and Janie Heavener, reminded her she was supposed to
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